


You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

by thought



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 14:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: In which planning a coup involves more paperwork than it should and Hux keeps not killing Kylo Ren and it's becoming a problem.





	You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

Hux spends twenty minutes skimming a shuttle over the personification of her failure as a human being until she finds Kylo Ren, unconscious and bleeding all over the snow and one arm hanging over the edge of a rapidly widening crater. After that, she goes back to her ship just in time to supervise two Stormtroopers carrying Captain Phasma's equally unconscious body out of a shuttle, apparently having extracted her from a literal waste processing facility. The sleeve of her coat is damp from where Ren had managed to cry on her while still unconscious on the shuttle, and when they carry Phasma past her a large section of brown vegetable peal slides wetly off her chest plate and lands on the tip of Hux's boot. This is truly not where she'd pictured herself at 34.

She returns to her quarters, where there are over 300 messages marked urgent in her inbox and barely an inch of brandy left in the bottle on her shelf.

"Does it really count as treason if I'm doing it to preserve the Order?" she asks Millicent. Millicent flicks her tail back and forth, then turns her back on Hux.

"I appreciate your confidence," Hux says, flatly, and pours all of the remaining brandy into her mug of cold caf. She needs the alcohol and the caffeine and at the moment expediency wins out over enjoyment.

She sits at her desk and allows herself to slide her arms out of the sleeves of her greatcoat and pull it up over her shoulders. She doesn't wear it like this where anyone could see, is keenly aware of the way her narrow shoulders and hips and delicate bone structure are read as indications of her weakness. She's already the youngest general in the fleet by far. She doesn't need to wrap herself up like a child in a parent's coat to add to the image.

She's tall enough and meticulous enough with her appearance that her body has rarely been used against her, but she's still hyper-conscious of the image she presents at all times. It's simply an unfortunate side-effect of whatever illegal gene fuckery her parents had thrown most of their credits at when she was developing that means her core body temperature is permanently a few degrees below human standard. She is tall and possesses an eidetic memory and needs about four hours of sleep a night and is often assumed to be a product of her father's indiscretions and she is always. Fucking. Cold.

The very first message in her inbox is the fatality report from Starkiller, because while Hux was watching her career crumbling around her and Ren was living out a holodrama and Phasma was experiencing intense professional and personal humiliation, there were thousands of support crew on the Finalizer who were, for the most part, going about their duties as usual. The list of officers and civilian contractors is far longer than she would like. Someone who isn't her is going to need to inform their families.

The resource deficit is next, and at the top of the list, in innocently generic font, it simply reads 'Starkiller Project: weaponized military base'.

Hux wonders, viciously, which administrator had chuckled to themselves as they typed the line. The next page of the list is filled with Stormtrooper units. Hux decides she is going to be very far away when Phasma finds out she's probably going to have to start working with clones.

By the time she gets to the financial deficit, her mug is empty and probably so is her soul. The bottom line is... too many digits. Just. Too many.

Starkiller was meant to be a one-shot weapon. Most of the equipment and people on it were slated for other positions once the shot had been fired. Even the pre-fab buildings were intended to be packed up. Nobody had banked on the entire base collapsing in on itself. It was supposed to be stable enough. It was supposed to be perfect.

Hux can't even send word to the officer stationed on Subterrel who is expecting four detachments of Stormtroopers to help quash a small rebellion, or to the ruler of Ampliquen, who is expecting a team of radiation experts to help contain a deadly leak in an old factory in the middle of a massive urban centre, because she doesn't even know what the official story is going to be. Everything to do with Starkiller had been classified, and now there's going to be money and personnel and equipment simply gone and there will need to be an explanation. She knows that the blow the First Order has taken is nothing compared to that which they dealt to the Republic, but at the moment the repercussions seem just as huge.

Her career is over. There's no coming back from this, even if Snoke somehow doesn't see fit to kill her as soon as the Finalizer arrives at his citadel. But looking at these reports, she's quite certain the First Order will also perish if decisive action isn't taken. It certainly isn't like she has anything to lose, and imagining The Finalizer's considerable firepower burning Snoke's irresponsibly luxurious fortress to so much rubble makes her smile for the first time since destroying the Hosnian system.

She'll need to deal with Ren. Probably this means killing her now while she's weakened. It would certainly be advantageous to have a force user in her arsenal in the future, but Hux isn't sure if the time and effort required to coax Ren's attention-starved loyalty away from Snoke would be worth the gain.

Ren is still in Medical, and the staff shrink out of her way as she crosses to the private room where she's being kept. They look frightened. She'll need to smooth that over, later -- fear does not breed the sort of long-term loyalty she aims to command -- but for now she's too focused on her goal. Now that she's made her choice, it's as if all the tension of the last four years has fallen out of her shoulders. She feels lightheaded and energized, close to the feeling of giving a deeply passionate speech, and her heart is beating so hard she can feel it in her throat.

Ren is awake.

"Inconvenient," says Hux.

"I killed my father," says Ren. Hux imagines gently banging her forehead against the wall.

"Of course you did," Hux says, resignedly. Ren's head lolls to the side so Hux can see her face, dark hair falling in greasy tangles across the pillow. Most of her body is covered in bandages and hooked up to machines. She should be in a fucking bacta tank, but Hux isn't going to say anything. Let Ren suffer if it's what she wants.

Hux has often wanted to find the person(s) who taught Ren that the only acceptable emotion to express is anger and present them with the bill for the last two years of equipment lost to Ren’s tantrums. Now, looking into Ren's eyes, too wide, too young, and too glassy with tears and shock, she takes it back. Ren looks devastated, and Hux cannot imagine the drama and headaches that will result.

"He said it would make me stronger," Ren says. Hux runs her gaze, pointedly, over Ren's current state of convalescence. Ren tries to curl in on herself but stops with a gasp of pain.

"Could you, perhaps, have emotions about this later?" Hux asks. Preferably once you're dead, she doesn't say.

"Passion gives me strength," Ren snarls. "My emotions bring me closer to the Dark."

Hux, who has, all things considered, been very tolerant of everyone's insistence that a universal energy field possesses an arbitrary set of morals, does not break Ren's jaw.

"Perhaps if I were to kill my mother," says Ren, like a child bargaining for a later bed time.

Hux leaves.

Before the door can slide all the way shut, Ren calls out. "General." Her voice isn't nearly as loud without the helmet, and it cracks half way through the word. Hux is embarrassed for her.

"Yes?"

"It won't work."

Hux should leave. There are, very literally, fifty things she could be doing with her time more valuable than playing guessing games with this overgrown child.

"You don't sound nearly as impressive as you think you do," she tells Ren instead. "You ought to learn to value efficiency over dramatics."

"All right," Ren says. "Your plan to overthrow Snoke and become leader of the First Order and later the galaxy. That's what I was talking about."

Hux's entire body goes very cold and then very numb. She steps back into the room and has to press her fingertips against the wall to prevent herself from staggering. The door hisses shut behind her.

"I advise you think very carefully about the consequences of your actions before accusing a General of the First Order of treason," she bites out.

"And I advise you think very carefully about the consequences of killing me," Ren retorts. "Your thoughts are beautifully organized. It makes finding your motivations and intent very simple."

Hux forces her expression to neutrality with an effort. "You have no idea what you are talking about."

"If I could figure it out, Snoke will know as soon as you're nearby. Your plan will be over before it begins."

"Then why warn me?" Hux asks. "If I were planning something, why not allow the Supreme Leader to deal with it himself."

Ren smiles. If she weren't so drugged it would look manic. She's going to pull her stitches.

"Killing the man I looked up to for the first fifteen years of my life didn't bring me closer to the Dark," Ren says. "Onward and upward."

Hux huffs out a breath. "It's all downhill after thirty, you know."

"Don't talk about yourself that way."

"I'm leaving," Hux says. "Get your rest, if you truly intend to help. If not, know that I will kill you, be it my dying act."

"Don't forget the haunting option," Ren calls, cheerfully. "Force ghosts are a documented phenomenon." Her speech is becoming slurred. Hux does not look back, this time.

*

Hux spends her bridge shift doing paperwork and drafting politely worded messages to too many people in which she attempts to downplay the loss of Starkiller without disclosing how entirely fucked they are, and combining that with reassurances about the Order's continued stability and prosperity without disclosing the coup that will hopefully be over by the time most of the messages make it past Communications.

When she returns to her quarters, she has been awake for fifty-six consecutive hours. She doses herself with a very mild sedative and when she lies down it only takes twenty minutes before she's asleep.

She dreams, of course. She dreams of standing on Starkiller, because why escape reality when you can relive the worst moments of your life on repeat? She watches a man approaching across a catwalk, indistinct and moving forward in fits and starts in the way of dream logic. The catwalk has no railings. She's surprised the contractors never attempted to unionize, actually.

"Take off that mask," the man says. "Sweetheart, you don't need it."

"What do you think you'll see?" she asks, but she doesn't know why.

"My daughter."

"Breha Solo is dead!" And then there is something glowing red and angry in her hand and the red is sparking and dripping down to the metal under her feet, making everything slick and dangerous and the man keeps coming closer and closer and he's not going to stop, she will be unmade by this, she will--

"Hux wakes up.

"No. Absolutely not," she snarls, and throws herself out of bed, swaying with vertigo and shoving her arms into her coat, yanking her boots on and knotting the laces sloppily. This is not a thing that is happening.

Ren is still asleep when Hux strides into her room. She's bleeding through the bandaging on her shoulder. Hux is very tempted to just kill her and be done with it.

"Ren," she says, leaning over and shaking her, digging her fingers hard into the bulky bandaged mess of her shoulder. "Wake up, damn you. Wake up this instant or I will make sure you never wake up again."

Ren comes to and instead of lashing out she shrinks in on herself, chin tucking against her chest and knees coming up to protect her stomach. Hux has long harboured her suspicions of what training under Snoke might look like, and Ren's reaction does nothing to disabuse her of these ideas. She doesn't like it. She wants Ren to be better than this, more than an abused creature instinctively accepting punishment.

"Get yourself under control," Hux snaps. Ren isn't looking at her, and she releases her grip on the knight's shoulders to catch her face between her hands. "Ren, listen to me. Keep your dreams in your own disaster of a head. This sort of disorder is unacceptable, and I will not have it onboard my ship."

"What did you see?" Ren asks.

"Enough," Hux says. "If I tell you it's all right that you killed your father will you stop pitying yourself?"

"I do not pity myself!" Ren snaps. "I am glad to have killed him! I was always stronger than him, and he could never accept it. I was so much more than those children with their dolls and games and dresses, I would not become less just to make them comfortable."

Hux cannot believe this is her life. "Are we still talking about your not-like-other-girls sense of identity or have we moved on to the thousands of shortcomings of the entire Jedi order back through history?" Ren is on rather an astounding amount of pain killers. Possibly Hux shouldn't judge her so harshly, but she just makes it so easy.

"I hate you," Ren says, like it's a revelation.

"That's fine," says Hux. "You're going to contact your mother."

Ren blinks. Her eyelashes brush against the side of Hux's hand and Hux drops her hands quickly from where she's been holding Ren’s face this entire time. "Excuse me?"

"I need to keep Snoke distracted from looking too closely at my mind. His favoured apprentice suffering a crisis of faith and attempting to restore familial bonds with the resistance seems distracting enough."

"She's not my mother!"

"Objectively untrue," Hux says, impatient. "If you didn't want people to know you're embarrassing backstory you shouldn't go broadcasting your dreams all over the ship. I've just learned you're a more valuable asset than I thought previously. It would be remiss of me not to use all the resources at my disposal."

"And am I at your disposal, General?" Ren asks, faux innocence dripping from the words. Hux ignores the tone.

"Yes." Ren should learn not to ask questions if she doesn't want answers.

Ren looks a little startled, but then she smiles. Her teeth are crooked. It's infuriating. "I had best do this soon," she says. "Organa will be more affected if I still look injured, and also I'm going to need to be very high to have any sort of conversation with her."

"I trust you can secure your transmission well enough as not to draw suspicion?"

"I won't make it too easy, I promise."

"Let me know when you've finished," Hux says, straightening. Ren's hand shoots out and wraps around her wrist. Her hands are large and strong and she could probably hold Hux's entire forearm in the circle of her fingers. Hux stares down pointedly at the hand until Ren drops her hold.

"Yes, Ren?"

"Never mind. I'll send you a message when I'm done. You should try to get some sleep."

"Fuck you," Hux says, mildly, and leaves.

Phasma finds her an hour later forcing down an energy bar in her office. She's drafting messages to send to the rest of the high ranking officers if she's still alive in three days. The other generals are easy enough. They may not respect her, but they know what she's capable of and fear will work as a stopgap until she can figure out who among them can be brought to heel.

The Admirals are a different story. The navy has a reserved sort of disdain for the army, and Hux is fully aware that by putting her in charge of the Finalizer Snoke had also painted a giant target on her back. If need be she believes the army can take control of the fleet, but she'd grown up on stories of Grand Admiral Thrawn (much to her father's disapproval), and she'd seen what Admiral Slone was capable of, and she will not make the mistake of under-estimating anyone based purely on affiliation. So. The letters to the Admirals are as respectful as she can get without showing weakness. It's a careful line to draw. Phasma's arrival is a welcome reprieve.

"Should you be out of Medical?" Hux asks. Phasma's wearing standard armour and no helmet and it's doing strange things to Hux's sense of reality.

"Should you be awake? Sir?" Phasma stares her down and Hux inclines her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"I'm glad you're here, actually," Hux says, straightening her datapads on the desk so they all line up with the edge. "Sit down."

Phasma folds herself awkwardly into the visitor chair. Hux allows herself a deep breath. Her heart has started pounding again, and her cheeks feel flushed. She hopes they aren't.

"When my father created the Stormtrooper program," Hux begins, keeping her tone confident and even, "he designed it with the goal of providing reliable troops to assist in preserving the First Order and its ideals-- that is, to bring order to the unrest that followed the fall of the Empire. It is our purpose, all of ours, to ensure an end to unnecessary suffering, to strip the excesses of the Republic and even those of the few remaining Imperial loyalist families, to bring peace through structure."

Phasma holds up a hand. "Yes, Hux, I'll help you overthrow the Supreme Leader. I'm rather disappointed that it took such a push to give you the confidence to finally do it."

Hux stares. Blinks a couple times. "Captain, you are making some rather dangerous assumptions."

"I also don't want to sit through twenty minutes of you getting off to the sound of your own voice, so I thought I would cut straight to the point. You will have the Stormtroopers at your back."

Hux sits back in her chair. "I simply wanted to explain--"

"It was very good, I'm sure you can use it as a holonet broadcast. Though you should let Ren do your makeup first, you look like shit."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know you haven't killed her, I just came from Medical. I can take care of that if you're feeling too emotionally compromised."

"What? What are you implying?"

"Does she cry during sex? Or does she just get off on choking you unconscious?"

"Get out of my office."

Phasma rolls to her feet. "I was serious, though. She wears cosmetics under the helmet because of course she does, and she's actually very good. I assume the only thing you've ever done with a bottle of foundation is attempt to glare it into submission."

"I should have you executed," Hux says, and because Phasma is the closest thing she has to a friend it's at least 90% a joke.

Phasma actually flinches. "I know," she says, and strides away down the corridor. So that's. Concerning. And also, hopefully, future-Hux's problem.

Thirty-three hours until they reach Snoke. She wonders what the range on his mind reading powers is. Perhaps she's leading her entire ship right into a trap. It would certainly be in keeping with her recent theme.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Phasma's right, she'll probably need to make some sort of public appearance. Hux knows she's very good at inspiring her troops, but the concept of acting as the face of The First Order makes her skin crawl. Her parents were both strong believers in the Empire, and Hux had grown up eating donated rations off of golden plates, and being paraded around in ill-fitting velvet gowns to any social event her mother could get herself invited to.

Things had only gotten worse at the Academy. She'd been under constant scrutiny as her father's daughter, students and instructors alike watching her intently for any mist-step, any sign of weakness or nepotism. Everyone knew her father's name and face. He made sure of that. Hux found it insipid that he seemed to gain more satisfaction from the recognition than the efficacy of the Stormtrooper program or the success of the Academy.

Hux has no particular desire for the worshipful adoration of billions of lifeforms as Snoke and Palpatine before him had basked in. She simply wants the power to organize the galaxy as she sees fit. She's quite confident in her ability to do so. She knows what an ideal galactic society would look like. And clearly no one else is up to the job, so it falls to her to step in and straighten things out.

She goes back to drafting her messages. Six hours later, she wakes up when her datapad vibrates under her face on the desk. For one very brief moment her stomach drops and her hands go cold, and she has to glance around herself to make sure Snoke isn't somehow in the room with her. The familiar starlines of hyperspace out the viewport are reassuringly steady and present.

She's fallen asleep over her work before, but always in her personal quarters. Never in her office where anyone could come in at any time.

The message is from Ren and simply reads 'done'. Hux can't tell if Ren is being vague for the sake of security or because she's pouting.

She goes back to her quarters to shower and change, and so that she can access the duty rosters without the possibility of someone walking in. She's kept a list in the back of her head of officers and crew who displayed high levels of loyalty to her, personally, or those who are stupid enough to follow her orders without question. Now it's simply a matter of moving shifts around so that those individuals are on duty when they reach Snoke.

They're going to have to move fast. Hux has no intention of making this a dramatic one-on-one battle, does not care if Snoke knows that it is she who kills him just as long as he does end up dead. Ren won't like it, but Ren can barely walk, and will likely be too busy fighting Snoke through the force to cause much of a fuss. Hux is hoping they can turn Snoke's citadel to slag from orbit before he has a chance to react. And with Ren there, she won't even need to find a body to ensure the kill.

She's barely finished that before her com chimes. For a moment she considers the possibility of someone noticing her interference and having the confidence to question her about it, but when she answers the call it's the nurse on shift in Medical.

"General," he says. "It's Lady Ren. Her condition has become... much worse, and we can't ascertain the cause."

"And this is relevant to me because?"

"Sorry, Sir, I just-- that is, we were concerned that if this continues it could prove fatal."

Hux rubs her forehead. "Thank you for the update," she says. "Continue to do what you can. The Supreme Leader is expecting we return Ren to him alive."

She lasts twenty minutes before she's stalking down to medical. If Ren is going to die, Hux wants to yell at her first.

Physically Ren looks better than the last time Hux saw her. The blood and dirt has all been washed off of her, and she's not hooked up to nearly as many machines. She's also entirely unresponsive when Hux comes in, and when she gets closer Hux realizes Ren's entire body is trembling, like all of her muscles are being pushed past their limits. ...which are probably...very extreme. Ren has told Hux she could bench-press her and Hux is uncomfortably certain she's telling the truth.

"Ren," Hux says, sharply. Ren twitches her head, and Hux wonders, alarmed, if she's conscious. Her eyes are closed but she'd clearly tried to react when Hux spoke.

"Ren, you're taking up the Medical staff's time," Hux says. "What is wrong with you?"

"My master is... teaching me..." Ren snarls out from between clenched teeth. "Get out."

Hux's stomach does something uncomfortable. Probably she should stop drinking caf. "I see. And what, pray tell, are you learning?"

A bead of sweat trickles down Ren's forehead. "I must rid myself of doubt," Ren grinds out. Hux smiles a bit.

"I expect you will benefit from the reminder." In truth, if Hux were in Snoke's position she would have simply killed Ren. Traitors deserve nothing less, and torture as punishment is a waste of time. She is not one to enjoy watching others suffer. It's counter-productive if her goal is to end galactic suffering. She hopes Ren can appreciate this. No one enjoys being tortured, but she wouldn't put it past Ren to truly believe it makes her stronger.

Hux reaches out a hand and strokes Ren's arm soothingly. It certainly can't hurt to reinforce positive associations, particularly with Ren so vulnerable.

At least she knows Ren's message to Organa has been discovered. She exits the room, takes a moment to assure the medical staff that Ren is most likely not dying, and returns to her quarters. At this point, it's a waiting game. Reluctantly, she begins composing a speech for the holonet release.

*

Coming into Orbit around the moon where Snoke's citadel is located with all weapons systems powered down has Hux clenching her fists so hard that if not for her gloves she would have scratched her palms bloody. There's no response to their hails, which is...concerning. Hux has no intention of showing her hand only to discover that Snoke is somewhere else entirely. This is starting to feel more and more like a trap.

She tells her bridge crew to continue to hail the citadel, and walks fast to Medical. Ren is lying on her uninjured side, and she waves to Hux when she enters. Her face is calm, no sign of the horrific pain she'd been in the last time Hux saw her, but her eyes and nose are red like she's been crying.

"Snoke isn't responding," Hux says. "Is there something I should know?"

Ren blinks lazily. Her eyelashes are crusted together, so it doesn't really have the effect she was probably aiming for. "Oh, right. You wanted to destroy the citadel, didn’t you? Go ahead, you can still live out your power fantasy. Perhaps it will make you feel better about Starkiller."

Hux grabs her by the hair and yanks her head up off the bed. The tug makes the skin around the cut on her face go taut, and Ren draws in a quick breath of pain. "What did you do?"

Ren relaxes, lets her head hang in Hux's grip. "I changed my mind," she says. "You inspired me, actually, you should feel honoured."

Hux is going to snap her neck. "Changed your mind regarding what?"

"I decided killing Snoke won't make me more powerful. Killing my father weakened me. I couldn't take that risk again."

"What are you saying?"

"You don't believe in the Light and dark sides of the Force. But if it is all one amoral power, then I am limiting myself by only pursuing part of it. Perhaps that is why the Sith and the Jedi have died out. And why my grandfather was so powerful. He never entirely let go of the light, he brought it to the Dark with him."

"Your grandfather died with the Death Star," Hux points out meanly. "Did you warn Snoke?"

"Oh," Ren says, like she's forgotten what they were talking about. "No, no, he's dead. I had my knights kill him, they were already nearby so it seemed efficient. You like efficiency, don't you?"

Hux releases her grip and Ren's head thunks down on the pillow. "You're lying."

"I'm not, but if I tell you to go check for yourself you'll just think it's a trap."

"You expect me to believe that you willingly allowed your knights to take the glory of killing Snoke from you?"

Ren waves a lazy hand. Her nails are painted black. If this was her first act of defiance as a free woman Hux is going to throw her out an airlock for her own good. "You were planning to, anyway. I'd rather my knights get the enjoyment, I think they deserve it far more than you."

"You seem remarkably calm."

Ren hums agreeably. "I killed my father, suffered life-threatening injuries inflicted by an untrained child and a Stormtrooper, you made me send a message to my mother, I was mentally tortured for three hours, and now the supreme Leader is dead. I am on more painkillers than you can possibly imagine. Also I'm in shock, actually."

"I have to rewrite so many messages," Hux says. If she were the sort of person to slump her shoulders she would be half way to the floor by now.

"Would it be easier if I said we did it on your orders? It was still your idea, after all."

Hux frowns. "You don't wish to take Snoke's place as Supreme Leader?"

"I really wish you would stop assuming you need to kill me," Ren grumbles. "As I said, this was your power fantasy, not mine. I must focus on becoming stronger in The force. I have no interest in leading the Order. I would have to make speeches, can you imagine? I am more than happy to leave politics to you and my mother."

"Shall I drop you off on a deserted planet with a meditation mat and a lightsaber, then?"

Ren shoves her face into the pillow. "I'm not going anywhere. Would you like me to go down on one knee and swear fealty to you-- don't answer that. I'd kiss you but I'd probably reopen my wounds. I could sign a contract." Hux coughs. Ren makes a wounded animal noise and rolls to her other side. Or tries to.

"You're bleeding again," Hux observes, as Ren flails and swears and gets herself tangled in the sheet.

"Get out," Ren says. "I am heavily medicated and nothing I say can be taken seriously. Also, I could kill you where you stand if I so chose."

"Yes, yes," Hux waves her off. "Shall I send a med droid in?"

"No," Ren grumbles. "The pain makes me stronger."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Ren doesn't answer. Hux turns away, then pauses. She ought to say something. Ren looks pathetic.

"Keep in contact with your mother. We'll be able to use that to our advantage somehow. And I won't have you destroying anymore equipment because you've been shamed for having emotions and you're lashing out. we really can't afford it. Literally."

"I'll need to make a new helmet," Ren says quietly.

"Your fashion choices are my last concern at the moment," Hux says, and then, because Phasma pointed it out, "And no one will think less of you for using cosmetics, you know."

"Stop trying to be kind, General, you're not very good at it."

Hux walks out without another word. Once she's in the corridor she coms Phasma.

"Captain, please take a team of Stormtroopers down to the Supreme Leader's citadel. We're receiving no communication from the surface, and it would be remiss of us not to investigate."

"Yes Sir," Phasma says, no expression in her voice.

Hux glances around to make sure she's alone and then lets herself lean against the wall. Phasma had it backward, apparently. Kylo Ren is the emotionally compromised one. Hux imagines Ren on her knees. Ren filling out the proper flight authorization requests. Ren cutting down Hux's enemies with swift, clean strokes of her lightsaber. She even imagines Ren leaning close to her, rubbing makeup over the dark circles under her eyes with even strokes until her skin is flawless and smooth.

The idea has potential. Perhaps creating an emotional connection with Ren would be beneficial- if nothing else it would serve to cement Ren's loyalty. This decided, Hux puts the issue out of her mind and strides off toward the bridge to await Phasma's return.

*

Supreme leader Snoke is found sitting on his throne, hands folded in his lap. His head is found on the other side of the room.

Hux still destroys the citadel from orbit. It's very cathartic, even if she can hear Ren laughing at her in her head. Literally. ...it's going to be a long week.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Tumblr](http://thought-.tumblr.com). Come talk to me about Kylo Ren's ridiculousness or Phasma's awesomeness or Hux's alexithymia.


End file.
